


the where, the why, and the reason.

by redhoods



Series: widofjord week 2019. [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Trans Male Character, Widofjord Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 04:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19244239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: Huffing out a quiet, Fjord kisses the corner of his mouth and then backs off before he’s tempted to do more than that, “You got much painting left?”Caleb blinks twice at him and then nods, “Oh, ja, a bit,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, seemingly sheepish with his forgetfulness, “Come help when you’ve finished here?”Fjord leans down and scoops the hammer back up, “Course, love.”





	the where, the why, and the reason.

**Author's Note:**

> modern domestic au that i’ve fallen headfirst into it. there will be multiple installments throughout wfw and probably some after. fjord is a trans man in this series.
> 
> for widofjord week. day one - fluff.
> 
> title from you’re the one by tyrone wells.

“Shit!”

The hammer slips out of Fjord’s hand and hits the floor, thankfully not his foot, with a resounding thud. He sucks his thumb into his mouth and grimaces at the sound of thundering footsteps down the stairs.

“Fjord?” Caleb comes skidding around the corner into the living room, a little wild eyed. There’s a streak of paint on his cheek.

Soft sunshine yellow.

It’d been a good choice for their room.

“M‘fine,” he mumbles around his thumb still in his mouth, jerking his other thumb at the wall behind him.

Caleb’s face softens as he comes closer, “Hammer bite you?” He asks, pulling Fjord’s thumb from his mouth and rubs his own thumb over it.

Fjord hums, “I think these shelves are going to win,” he admits sheepishly, still on the first nail of what is apparently going to be five. It’s going to be worth it when he’s finished.

When they’ve finished setting their house up.

He doesn’t think the sound of that is going to get old, not anytime soon anyways.

“It looks good, liebling,” Caleb says and then kisses the back of his thumb, almost absent in the way he does it. Fondness wells in Fjord’s chest and maybe they’re going to be sleeping on a mattress on the floor for the foreseeable future and the backyard is basically a jungle, but there’s no one else he’d rather do this with.

He steps in to press a kiss to Caleb’s forehead, “Thank you. Next we’ll have to get shelves for the study,” he says, pressing their foreheads together, “For all your books.”

Caleb’s arms circle around his back, “Are you going to put those together for me as well?”

“Maybe if you’ll interpret the directions,” he allows.

Then Caleb smushes their cheeks together and Fjord gasps in mock outrage, knowing that it means his own cheek is now going to be smeared with the same soft yellow paint.

Caleb dissolves into beautiful peels of laughter, pressing his face against Fjord’s bare chest next.

Fjord tightens his arms around Caleb’s back and lifts him up, spinning him around. His back will protest later and he’ll blame it on carrying the shelves in and putting them up. “I hope you’re going to help me clean this all up,” he says when he lets Caleb down.

The corners of Caleb’s eyes are crinkled with his smile and his face is pink, “Oh what a hardship that will be,” he replies with a sly grin.

Huffing out a quiet, Fjord kisses the corner of his mouth and then backs off before he’s tempted to do more than that, “You got much painting left?”

Caleb blinks twice at him and then nods, “Oh, ja, a bit,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, seemingly sheepish with his forgetfulness, “Come help when you’ve finished here?”

Fjord leans down and scoops the hammer back up, “Course, love.”

The endearment causes Caleb to flush again, dipping his head a little, before he turns and heads back up the stairs.

Turning back to the bracket for the shelf, Fjord squints at it, “Alright, now, lets all be civil,” he says and is careful as he holds onto the nail. Music starts upstairs, barely audible from where he is, and Fjord swings the hammer.

———

The shelf looks good when he finishes, level when he places the first picture frame on it. He ends up staring at that first picture, he and Caleb wrapped around each other in front of the house when they’d first bought it, unaware of a picture even been taken.

He clears his throat and fits a few more pictures, some of knick knacks that Nott had sent them and one of Jester’s small paintings on it.

Satisfied with a job well done, he leaves the living room and climbs the stairs, halting at the top to watch. Caleb’s stripped his shirt since he last came downstairs and there’s now a swathe of yellow on his shoulder and chest.

“You been playing in that?” He asks teasingly, shoulder against the frame next to him. It’s not painted, he’d made sure of that.

Caleb glances over at him and he’s still smiling, a small fond little thing, “Not intentionally,” he says and shoots a look over his shoulders.

Frumpkin is sprawled over their tarp covered mattress, sleeping soundly. 

“He nearly jumped into my paint pan,” Caleb explains, already turning his attention back to the wall. He slides the roller over the wall with the sort of precision and focus he does everything else with and Fjord’s hesitant to step in and potentially ruin his progress.

Fjord casts his gaze around the room and breathes out quietly, “The yellow was a good choice,” he says, already imagining waking up to Caleb every morning in this space, their space. 

It’s not like it’ll be the first time he’s woken up to Caleb’s sleep slack face, but it’ll be the first time in their home. No more tiny shoebox apartment that has them elbowing each other just trying to brush their teeth. The both of them had been giddy with the thought when they’d handed over the keys to their old landlord this morning.

A gentle hum is Caleb’s initial response as he puts the roller through the paint. He starts rolling, down to the last wall in the time it’d taken Fjord to finish with the shelf unit.

“Molly was a good choice for helping pick colors,” Caleb says and Fjord remembers watching he and Molly with their heads bent together, furiously chattering over color psychology and palettes.

Most, if not all of it, had gone over Fjord’s head, which had surprised no one.

“Jester would’ve had us in rainbows and what’s she call ‘em?” He scratches his claws over his jaws, “Jewel tones or something?”

Caleb laughs, “Ja,” he agrees, “Her and Beau’s place gets far more light, so those colors look nice in their home,” he goes on, movements sure, “Our home needs these lighter colors.”

The way he says ‘our home’ is so casual, but it doesn’t make Fjord feel any less thick with emotions over it.

“I really thought letting you and Molly loose on the paint section was going to end in chaos or tears,” Fjord admits sheepishly. “You two go wildly back and forth on whether or not you’re getting along. I can never tell if you’re actually mad at each other or not.”

There’s a shaking to Caleb’s shoulders now that means he’s still laughing, but more so, where he gets quiet and his eyes water. 

When he and Caleb had first started seeing each other, Fjord had been beside himself with worry about introducing Caleb and Molly to one another, so worried that his withdrawn, introverted boyfriend and flamboyant, outgoing roommate wouldn’t get along.

They’d gotten on immediately, set in on teasing Fjord over forgetting to set a timer for their food less than an hour after they’d met.

(Much the same as the first time Caleb had introduced him to Beau and they’d ended up teasing Caleb about all his books, then had set up a weekly running routine.)

“I’m serious, Cay!” He insists, but laughter is threatening to take him as well, “You two get on like... cats and dogs sometimes!”

“I hope I am the cat in this situation?” Caleb replies, turning to look at him, his face flush with his laughter and amusement. It’s a good look for him, though a sharp contrast to the streak of yellow still on his cheek.

Fjord purses his lips and touches his fingers to his chin, like he’s thinking, “Maybe an ornery, possessive house cat,” he says, meeting Caleb’s gaze with a grin.

Caleb’s jaw drops open, “Did you just call me ornery?” He starts advancing, brandishing the paint roller in front of him like a weapon, his eyebrows drawing together. He’s still grinning though.

“Hey now!” Fjord raises his hands in front of him in defense, backing away from the stairs, so he doesn’t end up stumbling down them backwards. The only place for him to go towards is the bathroom, though he’s hesitant to head in there.

It’s the first room they’d finished and he doesn’t want them to end up painting their new countertops.

The grin changes to a smirk, a slow growing thing, like Caleb senses his plight.

Fjord’s back hits the wall and he hopes the paint is dry.

“Hallo, mouse,” Caleb says, when there’s only a foot of space between them, then swings out with the roller when Fjord barks out a laugh in surprise. There’s a wet squelch of sound as he drags the roller down Fjord’s chest.

And Fjord reaches out, cupping his hands around the back of Caleb’s arms and yanks him in, squishing the roller between them while Caleb yelps at him. “Hello, kitty cat,” he demurred by Caleb’s ear, wrapping his arms around Caleb’s back and squeezing him in a massive bear hug.

Caleb squirms against him, before managing to plant a hand against his chest, pushing at him, “I yield, I yield!” He wheezes, laughter thick in his voice.

Fjord rubs their cheeks together, rumbling out a pleased sound before loosening grip.

They separate and Fjord’s face scrunches as he stares down at the paint now layering both of their fronts, “This isn’t going to be pleasant to wash off,” he says with a sigh.

“Don’t worry, bärchen, I will help you,” Caleb says, grin sly as he backs away now towards the wall once more.

“And I’ll help you get it off your back,” he replies, just to see the way Caleb twists around trying to see if there is any paint on his back. He laughs and digs his phone out of his pocket, waiting until Caleb’s back to painting to snap a few pictures of him, making sure to get a shot of the pain smeared on his front in one of them.

He sends that one to the group chat and keeps the rest for himself.

———

After the wall is done and they clean up the tape and drop cloths, Fjord heads into the bathroom to get the shower going while Caleb takes Frumpkin downstairs to feed him dinner.

The water is warm and Fjord’s just started the shower running when the door creaks open, “I can’t believe you sent that picture,” Caleb doesn’t really sound upset and when Fjord turns to face him, he’s got his own phone up.

Fjord scrunches his nose up at the shutter sounds, but lets Caleb take his revenge.

A few seconds later, there’s a ding from his own phone on the counter, followed by a flurry of dings as the group reacts, and Fjord sticks his tongue out at Caleb.

Laughter is the response and Fjord reaches his hand in passed the shower door, getting it wet before flinging it in Caleb’s direction, which only gets more laughter. He shucks his sweats and boxers in one go and the laughter cuts out.

He turns his back to the sound of Caleb stripping and steps into the shower.

They’d agreed without hesitation on what they’d wanted for their bathroom. A shower big enough for the both of them, a tub big enough for the both of them, and enough space for them to stand next to each other to brush their teeth.

After that, it’d been whatever they’d had space for, which has turned out to be more than either of them had anticipated.

The paint streaks with water, running towards the drain and Fjord turns his back to the shower head when the door opens, opening his arms to Caleb.

“This was the best idea,” Caleb says, pressing against him, resting his cheek against Fjord’s chest.

Fjord dances them in a circle until they’re sideways under the spray and gently scrapes his claws through Caleb’s hair as the water dampens it, “Which part are you talking about, love?”

Caleb’s head tips back against his palm, his face slack, “Mm, all of it.”

Huffing, Fjord nods and rubs his thumb across Caleb’s cheek and through his scruff, trying to rinse off as much of the paint as he can. “I think your greys might be losing to the yellows now,” he teases.

“Big talk coming from you,” Caleb says and Fjord enjoys the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

He nudges Caleb fully into the spray of the water and grabs his body wash, lathering a handful up, “C’mere.” Starting with Caleb’s shoulders, he works the soap over his bare skin, over his shoulders and down his chest. He gently scrapes his claws over the paint patches, through Caleb’s chest hair, flaking paint off and down the drain.

For his part, Caleb just stands and watches him do it, smile small. He cups a gentle hand around Fjord’s hip, thumb rubbing circles over the skin there.

“All good?” He asks, turning Caleb into the spray and works on some of the paint that is actually on his back. Once the paint is washed away, he turns Caleb around so his back can be rinsed.

“Ja, ist gut,” Caleb answer, voice a low rumble, “Your turn, liebling.”

Some small part of him wants to protest, but he lets himself be nudged under the spray now, watching Caleb pick his body wash up. 

Caleb seems to sense his tension, head cocked as he observes Fjord for a beat, then comes to him, his hands raised, fingers hooked up claws. Fjord snorts, ducking his head with a small smile, his shoulders loosening.

“There it is,” Caleb says and closes the distance, booping Fjord on the nose with a soapy finger before rubbing at his chest with soapy hands.

Huffing out a laugh, Fjord swipes his hand over his nose, though he ends up swiping wet paint across the back of his hand as well. He’d forgotten about his own cheek.

Caleb bats his hand away, “I will get it.”

Instead, Fjord ends up focused on the feeling of Caleb’s hands rubbing over his skin, nails scraping away paint. It leaves him loose and warm, shoulders drooping and eyes half lidded.

A push to his side prompts him into turning his front to the water, letting the water sluice away soap and paint. He wiggles his toes against the tiles, watching the swirl of tinted water down the drain.

“Back,” Caleb says in soft warning, then digs his thumbs into Fjord’s lower back on either side of his spine. Fjord presses his chin to his chest, a groan punching out of him, as Caleb works his hands up.

There’s a soft click of Caleb’s tongue behind him, “Massage tonight,” his tone is the no nonsense one that usually leaves Fjord a shivering mess, but now it just makes him curl up his lip where Caleb can’t see him do it. Massages aren’t inherently bad, even if they might be a little painful, but they usually leave him a puddle of unmovable mass afterwards.

He could beg off, ask Caleb to wait a night, but he’s not going to. After all the work they’ve done the last few days, getting the house livable, his back is a mess and it’d be his luck he’d wake up in the morning unable to move.

“‘kay,” he murmurs, only to yelp in surprise when Caleb suddenly pushes him fully under the spray of the water.

“You were thinking too much,” Caleb says and Fjord scratches his claws through his own hair, over his scalp in a perfunctory rinse. Scruff bristles across his sternum and he automatically wraps an arm around Caleb’s back, “Gut, liebling?”

Fjord hums and kisses Caleb’s forehead, “Good, thinking about dinner.”

Caleb wobbles them in a circle, “What are you thinking?”

“Pizza,” he answers, sheepish as his stomach chooses that moment to grumble.

Pulling away, Caleb steps under the spray and shoos him with his hands, “I’m going to wash paint out of my hair. You order.”

“Yes, dear,” he laughs as he steps out of the shower, letting the door shut with a soft click. When he glances over his shoulder, Caleb is sticking his tongue out so he returns the gesture as he scoops up a towel.

He scrubs the towel over his head before he wraps it around his waist and steps to the counter to pick up his phone.

A web search later and he’s pressing call for a place that supposedly delivers. He wedges his phone between his shoulder and ear and works on drying himself off. And then he looks to the shower and has to press back a wave of hot want that wells up in him, watching Caleb tilt his head back into the spray of water, eyes closed as he rinses his hair.

It takes the person on the other end of the line three tries to get his attention.

———

When they’re both dressed and mostly dry, they head down stairs to the living room to wait on their pizza. Fjord is distracted by the way Caleb’s hair curls damp around his neck, the way the shirt he’d stolen keeps slipping towards his shoulder and dipping to reveal his collarbone. 

It bunches up and reveals more of Caleb’s chest, when he reaches up to place his phone in the dock on the mantle and starts some music.

He drags his eyes up and finds Caleb watching him back, “Sorry, were you saying something?”

Caleb laughs softly and reaches for his hand, tugging him in, “That your shelf looks good,” he says, looping his other arm around Fjord’s back. Fjord stumbles a little towards him and their bellies bump before he rights himself.

It takes a gentle nudge from Caleb for him to realize what’s happening and he lets Caleb guide him into a dance, gentle looping circles on the bare wood floors of their living room.

So far, they’ve only got the couch and Caleb’s old armchair to take up space, though apparently Jester has a floor rug for them that came from her mother. It’s going to be a process, filling their home after living in such a small apartment together.

“I think we’ll need another shelf or two in here,” he explains, “A cat tree for Frumpkin,” he adds, squeezing Caleb’s hand.

“You mean somewhere high for him to rule over his domain,” Caleb says with the sort of fondness that’s reserved for a small circle of people, Frumpkin and himself included.

Fjord grins and lifts their joined hands, twirling Caleb before pulling him back to his chest, “I think he deserves no less.”

Caleb laughs, delighted, his forehead against Fjord’s shoulder as they continue to lazily loop around the room, “You’re going to spoil him rotten.”

“Oh, says you!” Fjord crows, laughing himself as he curls his fingers in the back of Caleb’s stolen shirt, thinking of Frumpkin’s carefully organized food taking up its own shelf in their refrigerator. “He’s not the only one I plan to spoil,” he adds, lower, mouth against Caleb’s temple.

Their noses bump when Caleb leans back to peer at him, “Oh, is that so?”

Fjord hums, “I remember someone drooling over bookcases,” he hedges carefully, lips curling to one side as he watches Caleb’s face.

“You didn’t.”

“I may have.”

“Fjord.”

“Caleb.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Caleb’s trying for admonishing, his stern professor voice, but Fjord is long impervious to it.

He kisses the crinkle between Caleb’s eyebrows, “I wanted to.”

Caleb harrumphs at him, “I don’t deserve you.”

They’re barely dancing as it is, so it’s nothing for Fjord to stop their movements, squeezing Caleb flat against him, “You deserve everything you want and I count myself as lucky to be included in that.”

Caleb’s eyes go all soft, his face melting into helplessly fond, “I love you.”

“And I you,” Fjord replies and kisses the end of his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, the corner of his mouth.

He’s about to get to an actual kiss when someone knocks on the front door.

They both groan and Fjord curses his own stomach as they separate, “I’ve got it,” he says and drags his hand over Caleb’s lower back as he passes him to get his wallet and then their pizza.

“Love you, Cay,” he calls back over his shoulder as he crosses out of the living room.

“Ich liebe dich, Fjord.”

**Author's Note:**

> i’m soft as fuck. find me on tumblr and twitter.


End file.
